


Your Body Is A Wonderland - Ian & Mickey

by floralsuitian



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Body Dysmorphia, Domestic Husbsands, Domesticity, Future Fic, M/M, Mental Illnesses, Mickey takes care of Ian, Sexual Content, head canon, ian bottoms, mental health, post s10, soft scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralsuitian/pseuds/floralsuitian
Summary: ~ In which Mickey makes Ian feel that he is incredibly worthy ~(Title taken from John Mayer's, 'Your Body Is A Wonderland')
Relationships: Gallavich - Relationship, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 8
Kudos: 194





	Your Body Is A Wonderland - Ian & Mickey

**Author's Note:**

> (Yes, you're reading the tags right. Ian bottoms in this one. I had to do it in order for this fic to make sense).
> 
> Life has been strange for me. My mental health has been very bad, but I've been doing exercises and therapy to help myself get through it all. Writing is one of those exercises. 
> 
> This one shot is very personal to me and I actually didn't know if I was even going to share it at all, but I am. Some of what's happening in this was me projecting how I was feeling at the time, onto Ian AND Mickey both, since I've recently been struggling with myself and with people in my life. As the tags say, there is talks of mental health issues, body dysmorphia, and even Ian's bipolar. I strongly encourage you to not read this if any of it is triggering to you in some way. Please do not feel obligated to read it; I am however, posting it because, like Mickey does in this fic, I want you all to always remember you are worthy of yourselves, the best friendships, and even healthy and kind relationships with the people in your life who make you feel worthy of yourself. I love you all, feel free to let me know what you thought of this if you read it!! <33

Ian doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but he’s been staring at himself in the bathroom mirror for the last ten minutes picking at himself. He had showered after his tiring shift at work, stepped out of the tub, and without wrapping a towel around his waist, just...stared at himself. At his body. The one he sort of let go years ago, but his toned physique was still there somewhat. His fucking meds made him lose weight, sometimes even gain it back. They had taken an immense toll on his body that first go ‘round and he hated it. They made him tired, even now, and made him feel weak. Like he was powerless.

Now he’s standing naked, in his and Mickey’s shared bathroom, picking at his skin and looking at the stretch lines and freckles and little blemishes that have appeared on his skin over the years and he’s feeling very insecure about all of it. Which is normal he supposes, but what if Mickey like...noticed them or something? He probably wouldn’t give a shit about it at all, but it still made him wonder. 

Ian starts looking at his hairline now and he lightly clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in frustration when he notices a small recede. He’s freaking out a little bit looking at himself; he’s not even thirty yet, not even close, but all these little changes, these little spots and lines and marks he notices, are making him panic. 

He leans over the sink, his hands on both sides to keep himself steady and he looks up into the little mirror again. The light dusting of stubble along his jaw is even freaking him out, the lighter hairs he sees on some of the tips of his hair, the extra freckles that have begun to litter his chest and shoulders, his lips are cracked and slightly dry and he needs to stop looking at himself right now or he’s going to start screaming. 

He hears Mickey calling his name from the front room, indicating he’s home from work, and he tells him he’s in the bathroom. Ian’s looking down at the sink when his husband comes into the bathroom, ogling over his naked body. 

“Whatcha doin’ in here, huh?,” Mickey eyes him, a small smirk playing on his lips. Ian sees him from the mirror and he exhales through his nose gently before turning to face him. 

“Do you think I look different?,” he asks, gesturing to his torso. Mickey leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms and quirking his eyebrow at him.

“Different how?”

“Like....do you think I look bigger or something? Like...pudgier or even more freckly?,” Ian absentmindedly starts poking at his own stomach over and over again, and Mickey scoffs at him.

“Are you kidding me? You’re asking me if you’re fat?,” Mickey is in absolute disbelief that Ian would even think that for a second, but he knows Ian better than anyone really. He knows the ins and outs of him, the likes and dislikes, the nos and the yeses of Ian. Like no one else does. And he wants to slap him across his perfect face for even thinking for a second that he is anywhere near _fat._

“Not _fat,_ just...thicker or something. I dunno,” Ian’s voice is low and Mickey’s sort of distracted by his cock and his legs so he’s not entirely paying attention but he walks farther into the bathroom, takes Ian (shaking?) hand, puts it down at his side, hooks his finger under his chin to make him look at him. 

“Ian, where the hell is this coming from? Did something happen?”

“No. Just....scared is all.”

A concerned look fills Mickey’s facial features and Ian’s not even making eye contact with him, he’s looking down at his and Mickey’s bare feet.

“Scared of what? Talk to me.”

“Getting older. My meds already fuck up my weight and everything else, so what’re they gonna do to me when I’m sixty, huh? How fucked up am I gonna be because I had to take these damn meds for forty fucking years?”

He’s getting angry, his voice is raising and Mickey’s trying to soothe him by rubbing his thumb against his ear and the back of his neck.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.”

He doesn’t; his breathing has increased and he’s looking down at the floor still. Mickey recognizes this, the way he’s feeling; he tries again.

“Ian, look at me. Hey,” he finally forces Ian to look at him, cupping his face in both hands and stroking his thumbs over Ian’s warming cheeks. “Eyes on me,” Mickey whispers, keeping Ian’s eye contact as his breathing begins to slow down. He closes his eyes for a second, feels tears welling in the corners of them.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his forehead falling against Mickey’s and he holds him. He just holds his face between his hands, tries to keep him calm. He hates seeing him like this, hates feeling like he can’t help him. Like he has no control over any of it. 

“You...are _perfect._ You hear me?,” Mickey keeps their foreheads together, their lips are inches apart and Mickey feels Ian’s soft breath mixing with his own as he speaks softly to him. 

“Your body, your mind, your heart, it’s all perfect. The meds, your fucking illness does not define who you are, Ian. I’ve told you that, your family has told you that.”

“It’s fucking part of me, Mick.” Ian exhales, Mickey feels wetness on his cheeks as he wipes away his tears gently with his thumbs.

“It’s part of you, doesn’t mean it _is_ you. You got that?”

Mickey’s trying his hardest to relax him; this isn’t the first time Ian’s felt like this about himself before. Hell, Mickey’s even been there once or twice, but Ian...he’s hard on himself about all of it. Mickey remembers a very significant time where Ian told him he hated himself, during a depressive episode and _fuck,_ Mickey was so scared, so worried. He hid everything he could find that could’ve caused Ian to possibly do something to harm himself. And he remembers calming him down, much like he was trying to do now, trying to get Ian to see himself the way Mickey saw him. Perfect. Beautiful. _Everything._

“I love you, you hear me?,” Mickey presses his lips to Ian’s cheek, taking in his scent, his body wash and his shampoo still lingering from his shower. His hair is still damp, he never really dried himself off when he climbed out of the shower, so Mickey reaches over to the cabinet and grabs a towel out for him, wrapping it around Ian’s waist. His head is hung low again, his hands are shaking somewhat still, his eyelids are blinking slowly, and Mickey wishes he could take away every ounce of pain he’s feeling right now. He wishes he could kiss away the frown lines that are etching their way onto his forehead. Mickey tucks the towel into itself the best he can around his husband’s waist, then lifts his chin again to make him look at him. 

“I love you.”

Ian’s eyes well up with tears again, Mickey lowers his head to kiss the bridge of his nose gently, and he wraps his arms around his neck, letting Ian’s cheek drop to his shoulder so he can let it all out for a minute. 

“I love you so much, okay? Everything about you. I always have,” Mickey reassures him, but Ian is still crying, his arms are wrapped tightly around Mickey’s torso, his body is shaking as Mickey tries to soothe him. Tries to bring him back down to Earth a little bit. 

“Hate myself,” Ian whispers. Mickey shakes his head, holds him tighter. 

“Stop, don’t say that shit to me, you hear me?,” Mickey says against his temple. He holds him for a long time, both of them standing in the bathroom longer than necessary, Mickey gently swaying Ian to soothe him some more. 

“You wanna go lie down? Take your meds for me?,” he asks. He hears Ian sniffle against his shoulder, then he nods softly. Mickey kisses his temple again, then leads him out of the bathroom, shutting off the light on the way out. Ian’s rubbing at his cheek when they enter the bedroom and he stands outside the door like he wasn’t invited in. Like he doesn’t sleep in here every night. 

“Ian, come here please,” Mickey softly commands. He’s already grabbing his pill case from the drawer on his nightstand, opening up today and pouring the three pills into his hand. He grabs Ian’s water bottle from the nightstand as Ian begins to walk into the bedroom finally. He sits next to Mickey who hands him his pills (or tries to) and water bottle. Ian shoves his hands away gently and Mickey shakes his head at him. 

“Uh huh, you take them. You said you would,” Mickey softly begs with him. Ian lets out a breath, one of annoyance and he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“They make me feel like shit, Mick. I don’t wanna take them anymore,” Ian almost whines. Mickey shakes his head at him again. 

“No, you’ll get all fucking crazy and depressed if you don’t take them, you’ll feel much worse if you don’t. Please...take them,” Mickey’s trying his very hardest to not get upset with him. He gets it, he knows he’s struggling. He understands, he’s seen Ian go through this too many fucking times and he hates it. He hates that he can’t go about his day without pumping himself full of meds to make him feel like a normal human being. He hates seeing the look on his face when Mickey asks him if he took them. But he has to ask, he’s almost obligated to ask. 

“Ian, please. I’m not fucking asking much here, just take them,” he says a little too harshly. Ian sighs heavily, reaches over to Mickey’s hand and nearly snatches the pills from him, setting them on his tongue then taking the water bottle and washing the pills down. Mickey sighs, but cards his fingers through Ian’s hair when he settles again. He leans his forehead against his temple, dragging his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Thank you,” Mickey whispers, kisses his cheekbone. “That’s all I wanted.” 

Ian nods slowly, turns his head to face Mickey’s, catching his lips with his own without even thinking twice about it. Mickey makes a soft humming noise when Ian’s lips close over his own. Ian sighs against Mickey’s lips, his lips parting momentarily to gently trace his bottom lip with his tongue. Mickey’s breathing slowly increases when Ian’s hands wander to the belt buckle on his jeans, their foreheads pressed together, their breaths mixing with one another’s softly. Ian’s fingers undo the belt, then the button and zipper, and Mickey stops him.

“H-hold on a second, tough guy,” Mickey laughs breathlessly. Ian’s slightly taken aback, but doesn’t proceed with his actions. 

“How ‘bout you let me take care of you this time? Hmm?,” Mickey suggests, dragging his fingers down Ian’s bare chest. A shaky breath escapes Ian’s lips because he hardly ever bottoms and he knows that’s what Mickey’s suggesting, but he’s going to let him. Because he trusts him. And he loves him. 

“Okay,” is all Ian says. Mickey smiles at him, cups his face in his hands, presses their lips together again so softly, Ian can feel it in his toes. His breath, the bit of his tongue that he presses into Ian’s mouth, their noses pressed against each other’s cheeks. Ian’s fingers begin to glide underneath the fabric of Mickey’s shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin under his fingertips and reveling in the gentle sound he makes when Ian begins to slide it up his body to remove it. They pull away from each other’s mouths only for a moment to let Ian toss Mickey’s shirt to the floor, and then he grabs for him again as if he’ll float away. Mickey smiles at him, reaches for his towel, tugs it away from Ian’s body, lays him down on the mattress, says “I’m right here,” and Ian feels tears in his eyes again. _Fuck, don’t do this now, please._

“I gotchu, don’t worry,” Mickey whispers, kneeling down to kiss Ian’s thighs. Ian closes his eyes, threads his fingers through Mickey’s hair, gently tugging at the strand, and Mickey nips at the inside of Ian’s thighs. A soft _unh_ leaves his lips, his hands are still shaking and his heart is racing, but not in the way that he wants it to. 

“Mick?,” Ian’s voice shakes as Mickey stands to remove his pants. He stops though, at the sound of Ian’s voice. 

“What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

“N-no. I just...come back,” he begins to cry softly and Mickey quickly removes his pants and boxers, tugging his socks off as well and climbing over Ian’s body.

“Hey, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” 

Ian cups his face, brings his lips to Mickey’s again. Mickey parts Ian’s legs with his knee gently, removes his lips from his, noses at his jaw to kiss at his neck and collarbone. Ian holds onto him, his hands around his back as Mickey makes his way down his body. _God,_ his body. How could Ian possibly hate the way he looks? He’s _sexy,_ incredibly toned as he’s always been for as long as Mickey’s known him. 

“ _God,_ I love you so much,” Mickey kisses Ian’s hipbone, then down his thighs again, lifting his legs to place his feet on the mattress. He grabs a pillow from the head of the bed, placing it under Ian’s hips and he _fucking_ sighs in the way that makes Mickey head spin. 

“Can I?,” he motions to Ian’s ass, dragging his hand up and down the back of his thigh. Ian looks down at him, settled between his legs and _fuck,_ of course he can. Ian nods, threading his fingers through Mickey’s hair as he lowers his head to place an open-mouthed kiss at the junction of Ian’s ass and his thigh. Ian gasps, his eyes closing and his lips parting as he suddenly feels Mickey’s mouth close over his entrance. Ian’s head rolls back into the mattress, his fingers tighten in Mickey’s hair, his legs already on the verge of collapsing. Mickey’s mouth is fucking _warm_ and _soft_ as he mouths at him, his tongue moving softly in and out of him. They always end up like this at some point; worshipping one another’s bodies as if it’s the last time they’ll ever get to. Loving and caring and _worshipping_ everything about one another and _goddamn it_ if Mickey wasn’t worshipping Ian’s now. 

“ _Fuck,_ Mickey. _Yes,”_ Ian moans, moving his hips gently against Mickey’s mouth. His hands are still in his hair, tugging at the dark strands, Mickey’s hands rubbing soothing circles into Ian’s thighs as he mouths at him, sucks at him, fucking _tongues at him._ Ian’s never felt like this with anyone except Mickey, he’s never felt this kind of intimacy, this kind of pleasure, ecstasy, with anyone but this fucking man. He loves him more than he’s ever loved anyone in his life and he’s absolutely content as Mickey continues to pleasure him the way that only he knows how. 

“Gonna come for me?,” Mickey breathes, removing his mouth for a moment to grab the lube from the nightstand and squeeze some onto his fingers. Ian’s breathing is increasing, his chest is flushed, he’s hard as _fuck,_ and Mickey wants him to come so he can get him there again. And when he presses his fingers into Ian, he watches the way his eyes roll back, listens to the little _unhs_ he’s making, every little _“yes, fuck”,_ every fucking sound he’s making is going straight to Mickey’s dick. And Ian’s in heaven, if he has anything to say about it. When Mickey’s mouth joins his fingers, Ian thinks he might pass out. But instead he comes, hard, against his own stomach, and Mickey smiles triumphantly against his ass. 

“Oh, _fuck,”_ Ian moans, his legs shaking and his chest rising, his hands twisting into the comforter on the bed. And Mickey places one final open-mouthed kiss to his opening before removing his fingers and lips to hover over Ian again. His eyes are wild and his lips are pink from him biting down on them at one point. And Mickey thinks he looks so beautiful like this, so sexy, he’s _everything._

“You’re so _good_ at that,” Ian smiles lazily at his husband and Mickey wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb before leaning down to kiss him softly. 

“You look so good right now,” Mickey murmurs against his mouth, swinging his leg over Ian’s torso to straddle his upper thighs. Ian hums against his lips, pressing his tongue against Mickey’s own, tasting him, memorizing him like he always does. 

“I love you,” Mickey whispers, breathing into Ian’s mouth as he settles over his body to take the reins again. Ian lets out a breathy moan as Mickey parts his legs with his knee, settles between them, carefully presses into his husband, feeling all of him at once. Ian’s head rolls back against the mattress, his fingers gripping Mickey’s bicep this time, his neck flushed and his body, _fuck,_ his body is pink and the freckles on his skin are brighter in the dimly lit bedroom because of the sheen of sweat making it’s way over him. Mickey thrusts gently, Ian moans softly, says, “ _fuck,_ I love you,” his hands resting on Mickey’s lower back as he gently thrusts into him. It wasn’t often they switched positions; in fact, it was happening more and more as they had gotten older, but most of the time, Ian definitely topped. It was almost special when Mickey did, almost like it gave Ian a break from taking over all the time. Especially now, when he was being hard on himself and feeling extremely insecure; Mickey wanted to show him that he was still loved and cared for, that Mickey was going to love him despite everything Ian thought was wrong with him. 

Mickey continues to make love to him, continues to gently roll his hips into Ian’s, whispers how good he feels in his ear, while Ian wraps his legs around Mickey’s waist and his hands around the back of his neck. Mickey places a kiss to Ian’s jawline before pressing their foreheads together, their open mouths inviting one another in.

“You feel so fucking _good,”_ Mickey breathes, “so good.”

“I love you, I _love_ you, _unh…”_

Ian’s legs are shaking around Mickey’s waist, he’s looking up at him with a look of fear and worry, and Mickey pets his fingers through Ian’s hair to relax him, kisses his nose, his eyelids, his pink cheeks.

“I love you so much, _fuck,_ I’m so close.”

“Come inside me, “ Ian breathes, his nose brushing Mickey’s jawline, his fingers threading through his hair as he whispers in his ear, “come with me.”

Mickey nods, breathing heavily as he rocks his hips faster against Ian’s, feels the way his heels are pressing into Mickey’s lower back and one final thrust from Mickey sends Ian over the edge, Mickey following him seconds later. He presses their foreheads together, letting Ian know he’s there, that he’s safe, that he’s loved. He presses a soft kiss to his lips, Ian’s hands cupping his face and his legs beginning to fall from around his waist. Mickey runs his own hand through Ian’s hair, across his cheeks, down his neck and torso, while still not having removed himself from Ian. 

“Mickey?,” Ian’s voice is light, gentle, as his breath blows across Mickey’s lips. Mickey kisses the corner of his mouth before responding with a reciprocated, “Ian?”

“There really are parts of me I don’t like. And I can’t help it. I just get stuck inside my own head all the time, ya know?”

“I know you do.”

“And I want you to know that...I’m working on that stuff too. You know, all the...insecurity shit. With my therapist and being stuck in my head. I’m trying.”

“Ian, you don’t have to explain any of that shit to me, you know I love you no matter what.”

Ian’s fingers are dragging over Mickey’s chest as he continues to lay over his body. 

“Yeah...just wish you didn’t have to see me like that.”

“Like what?” If Ian’s talking about the bathroom episode earlier, he’s definitely seen worse.

“Like _that._ Like how I was in the bathroom. I just get...stuck. And then I think you’re gonna not like me anymore or something.”

“I’ve been stuck with you since I was fucking seventeen. You really think I’m gonna back out now?,” Mickey chuckles, feathering his fingers over the freckles on Ian’s chest and shoulders. 

“Ian, I know you. I know you better than probably your own fucking siblings do, and I’m in _love_ with you. I’m so in love with you that even thinking about you makes my fucking stomach flip or whatever the fuck they say now.”

Ian smiles at him, runs his thumb over Mickey’s collarbone as he continues professing his love to him all over again. 

“I’m kind of lost without you, and I married your ass and now you’re stuck with me. Okay? I’m not gonna leave you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mickey eyes Ian’s face, waits for a sign that he believes him and when Ian says, “you’ve made me a better person” Mickey knows he’s trying. Trying to believe it himself, trying to make himself feel better and trying to _love_ himself. The way Mickey wants him to.

“And I love you...so much,” he whispers, bringing his hand up to Mickey’s cheek, carding his fingers through his hair again. Mickey smiles then hums softly, leaning down to kiss him again, says “Bastard,” against his lips and Ian chuckles. 

Mickey finally lifts himself from Ian; he winces as he does and Mickey frowns. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, man,” he lays next to him, rubbing circles in his hips and near his ass to try and ease the tension there. Ian sighs at the action then turns on his side to face his husband, who’s still rubbing circles into his skin.

“You okay?”

Ian nods, places his hand on his cheek. Mickey moves his hand to Ian’s waist, dragging his hand over the smooth skin, feeling the dips of his muscles, his ribs, admiring the smattering of freckles layered over his entire body. Mickey smiles, leans forward to kiss the tip of Ian’s nose and the corner of his mouth. Ian sighs again, the corners of his lips quirking up in a small smile. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, running his hand down Mickey’s neck, his cheek, to his shoulder. Mickey tilts his head against the mattress in confusion.

“For what?”

“Just being here. Never leaving me.”

“I’ll always be here, okay? I promise,” Mickey kisses the corner of his mouth again, then drops his lips to Ian’s, letting his tongue gently press against his. Ian hums at that. 

“I love you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Ian closes his eyes, nuzzles his head into Mickey’s neck, wraps his arm around his waist, tangles their legs together, let’s the warmth of their bare bodies radiate against one another, and as Ian’s falling asleep, thinking about how he really couldn’t get through any of this without Mickey, whispers, “love you too.”

And Mickey kisses the top of his head, draws circles in his hips again and traces the outlines of his body that Ian hates so much but that Mickey loves so much, and he falls asleep too, knowing that he’s never loved anyone as much as he loves Ian.


End file.
